The Big Bad Truth

They call me the Big Bad Wolf. Cute, right? Makes it sound like I’m the villain in some fairy tale cooked up to scare kids before they drift off to sleep. I’ve heard the rumors, yeah, how I gobbled up some sweet old granny and tried to make a two course meal out of her precious granddaughter. Honestly, I’d be flattered if it wasn’t so insulting.  

No one ever asks for my side of the story, though. Typical. But since you’re here, settle in. Let me tell you how things really went down. And, hey, it’s not what you think.  

I’d been minding my own business all morning, skulking around the woods, like wolves tend to do. A rabbit here, a squirrel there, nothing major. Then, I stumble upon this little cottage in a clearing. Nothing fancy, but it smells like baking bread and yummy herbs, maybe a bit of arthritis cream. My stomach growls just thinking about it.  

So I knock.  

Now, before you judge, let me clarify something. I’m not some kind of savage. Wolves have manners, thank you kindly. I don’t just barge into places like some uncouth beastie.  

“Who’s there?” calls this raspy voice.  

“It’s your friendly neighborhood wolf,” I euphoniously say, which, okay, fine, maybe isn’t the most reassuring introduction.  

“Go away!” she snaps.  

Normally, that’s my cue to turn and leave. But this old broad? She intrigues me. There’s something in her tone… not fear, but pure, undiluted irritation. I love it.

“Listen,” I say, “I’m not here to cause trouble. I just want to talk.”  

There’s a long pause, then the door creaks open just enough for me to see a pair of sharp, skeptical eyes peering out.  

“You’re the one they call Big Bad?” she asks.  

“That’s me.”  

“Hmph.” She opens the door wider, and I see her in full view. Her gray hair in a messy bun, apron dusted with flour, and a scowl that could pop a tire. “You don’t look so big.”  

Turns out, Granny (her name was Marguerite, but she hated that) and I meshed well. She wasn’t what you’d call a sweet old lady. No cookies or warm hugs here. She was sharp-tongued, opinionated, and frankly, an absolute riot.  

“You know,” she said over a cup of tea, “people think I’m some helpless crone, but I’ve lived in this forest for decades. I’ve seen things. Done things. That granddaughter of mine? She doesn’t have a clue.”  

“Granddaughter?” I asked.  

“Little Red,” she said, spitting the name out like a bad peanut. “The whole village thinks she’s some kind of saint. But let me tell you, she’s a menace. Always stomping through the woods, scaring off the wildlife, shooting at shadows. She’s worse than any of you wolves.”  

“Worse than me?” I asked, pretending I was offended.  

“By miles.”  

I liked Granny. She got me.  

A few weeks later, I dropped by for another visit. She looked frazzled, pacing the small room like a storm cloud ready to burst.  

“What’s eating you?” I asked playfully.

She gave me a look. “You mean besides the fact that my idiot granddaughter is coming over tomorrow with another basket of dry bread and all-I-can-eat disappointment?”  

“Rough life,” I said, grinning.  

“Laugh all you want, hairball. That girl’s a nightmare. Every time she visits, she spends half the day criticizing my cooking and the other half ranting about wolves. And not in a flattering way.”  

“Well,” I said, leaning against the doorframe, “what do you want me to do about it?”  

She stopped pacing, her eyes narrowing.  

“Actually,” she said slowly, “there is something you could do.”  

Now, let me pause here to say I’m not in the habit of doing any favors for humans. It’s bad for the brand. But Granny’s idea? It was so wild, so delicious, I could not resist.  

“I want you to scare her,” she said.  

“Scare her?”  

“Just enough to make her stop coming around. Maybe make her think I’m...dead.”  

I blinked. “You want me to fake your death?”  

She shrugged. “Why not? I’m old, I’ve got no use for village gossip, and honestly, disappearing sounds great. You pull this off, and I’m free. Plus, you get the added bonus of making Little Red sweat.”  

It was diabolical. I loved it.  

The plan was pretty straightforward. The next morning, Granny would climb out the back window and vanish into the woods. I’d stick around, mess up the place a bit, and wait for Little Red to show her ugly mug.  

It went off without a hitch. Granny slipped away before dawn, muttering something about a cabin by the river where she could “finally enjoy some peace and quiet.” I gave the place a proper ransacking, overturned a chair here, knocked a few jars off the shelf there. Nothing too dramatic.  

Then I slipped into her bed, pulling the covers up to my chinny chin chin. It was absurd, but hey, I’m a wolf of my word.  

Right on cue, Little Red came pounding up the path, her boots crunching like she was trying to wake the dead.  

“Grandmother?” she called, pushing open the door without knocking. Rude!

I cleared my throat, doing my best impression of Granny’s voice. “In here, dear.”  

She stepped into the bedroom, her basket swinging on her arm. When she saw me, she froze.  

“Grandmother?” she said slowly, her eyes narrowing. “What big ears you have.”  

I smirked under the covers. “All the better to hear you with, my dear.”  

“And what big eyes you have.”  

“All the better to see you with.”  

She took a step closer, her hand drifting to the hilt of a knife on her belt.  

“What big teeth you have,” she said, her voice low.  

I grinned, baring every sharp, shiny tooth I had. “All the better to eat you with!”  

That’s when she pulled out the knife and came at me like a bat out of hell.  

I barely got out of there alive. Little Red certainly wasn’t playing. She chased me through the woods, firing arrows and screaming like a banshee.  

“Come back here, you mangy coward!” she yelled, an arrow whizzing past my ear.  

Mangy? Rude!

I finally lost her by diving into a hollow log and waiting until her thumping footsteps faded away until the dulcet sound of the forest surrounded me.  

A few days later, I ran into Granny by the river. She was sitting on a rock, book in hand, looking as serene as a cloudless sky.  

“How’d it go?” she asked, not even looking up.  

“Your granddaughter is insane,” I said, flopping onto the grass. “She tried to kill me!”  

Granny chuckled. “Sounds about right. But did she believe it?”  

“Oh, she believed it, all right. She thinks you’re wolf chow right now.”  

“Good,” Granny said, turning a page. “Serves her right.”  

So there you have it. No murders, no devouring, no evil schemes. Just a tired old lady who wanted a break and a wolf willing to help her.  

If you ask me, the real villain here is Little Red. But hey, what do I know? Am I right?